


There It Is

by Cascaper



Series: Until I Fall [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, in which I cover some moments over the last few patches, my girl and her lap-sized lover, pretty well established relationship, slowly reconciling the timelines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-04-24 04:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19166002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cascaper/pseuds/Cascaper
Summary: Affairs of the heart are slippery things, but Thosinund has been down this path before. She knows how to stay on her feet...Or at least, she used to.Scenes of a Warrior and a prince, well on their way to something more. Sequel to 'Aught and All.'Newest chapter: "O My Heart, pt 2" - an explicit one!





	1. Near Thing

Thosinund is not in love, of course. Not quite. It’s far too soon for that.

But once a week- at least- she makes the journey by aetheryte and air to the Doman Enclave, bearing whatever she can carry to aid the restoration. Lumber, leather, shell and bone; metals, materia, wool or stone. Sometimes by the handful. Sometimes by the armload, if her luck has been particularly good. Always, Kozakura thanks her; always, Thosi smiles and promises to be back with more soon.

And always, Hien is there.

In another life, she had hidden and waited to be found; now she seeks, with an air of casual nonchalance. She walks the length and breadth of the Enclave, helping clear away rubble or lift broad beams, cheerfully returning folks’ greetings. And always, out of the corner of her eye, with every echo of sound around her, she is alert for that footstep- or that voice- or that smile like sunlight on the water…

Sometimes she finds him in the midst of a crowd of citizens, and waits for a suitable moment to help him break away. Sometimes he catches up to her just as she is approaching the aetheryte to leave. Other times yet, she has no sooner turned away from the donation basket than he is there, eyes like spring, saying he had a feeling she’d be here today.

And always when she sees him, she feels another shoot unfurling from the soft earth of her heart.

* * *

She is not in love with him. Not quite.

But always, she enjoys being with him. When they can be together. She likes to know that he thinks of her, too; she knows this because he tells her so—in his (infrequent, yet heartfelt) letters, and much more often in person.

There are days when they do not meet, of course, for leaders cannot be everywhere at once. Those are the days that she puts on her postmoogle cap, and settles down in the Bokairo to pen careful Far Eastern letters… well, three of them, that is. Three characters. The ones that spell his name.

She does occasionally try a sentence or two, with the painstaking help of her dictionaries and phrase books.  _The moon is beautiful tonight_ , she writes. Or,  _This made me laugh the other day_. Or,  _I find it hard to sleep this evening…_

Mostly she rambles on in Eorzean, for the benefit of his own language-learning efforts. The paragraphs run longer as the moons run on. And she signs them twice over- because, at the very least, she’s learned what characters approximate her own name.

She finds herself wanting to bring him things—a foolish impulse, of course. The Kienkan can only hold so much, and Hien has made it known to all that he is no tyrant to be appeased with tributes.Yet still it persists, this wish to bring small surprises for him alone.

So she contents herself with occasional trifles: a branch of coral one day, a single fine pearl the next. She folds them into her letters, slips them into his sleeves. He jokes, saying he must have caught some kami’s eye to find such treasure laid in his lap. “But one must not take such favors lightly! It would be a deadly insult,” he adds with mock solemnity, his eyes alight with mischief all the while. “Better to put this safe away, lest I be struck down for disrespecting the kami’s gift.” 

 _Treasure. Kami._ The words burn pleasantly in her ears for bells afterward. She ought to know better, considering her history with certain giant storm gods, but there it is. There it always is.

* * *

The Enclave takes shape faster than she expected. Frames become walls, with doors and windows, with snug roofs. Stalls fill with all manner of foods, sweet and savory, giving off great clouds of steam that can nearly be seen across the river. Flying over the sparkling waters, down to the docks, Thosinund marvels anew each time she sees the changes wrought in her absence.

Today, she spots Hien from the air and grins.

“That yol of yours has been restless, hasn’t it?” she remarks, when she’s joined him on the pavement.

“Indeed.” His eyes sparkle. “I haven’t been able to give it as much exercise as either of us would like.”

“Is that so.” Thosi draws out the word, just a little. “In that case, might I interest your lordship in a little adventure?”

They spend a good few bells airborne. Standing on rocky heights, swooping through mist and sunshine, shouting and laughing and gods,when was the last time she had this much fun?

A rush of fragrant air catches both of their attention at the same moment, and they turn their birds to follow it to its source: a quiet rocky pool, ringed by sheer stone, absolutely rife with flowering plum trees. She turns questioning eyes to find him already nodding an answer.

Both yols are allowed to hover or rest as they please, while Thosinund and Hien wander the spring in amazement. The water stays clear, not having much in the way of dirt or other debris to be stirred up when they are obliged to splash through it. In some parts it is even too deep for that.

Which is how they end up swimming. 

Thosinund has long been in the habit of carrying a dry set of clothes along in her pack; though Hien has no such supplies, he’s not remotely bothered at the possibility of riding home damp.

“In the Steppe- well, you remember. It rains at the drop of a twig, there,” he says. “I have put up with far more discomfort for less pleasing prospects.”

So saying, he is down to his smallclothes and into the water within seconds. 

The afternoon slips away, quite outside of Thosi’s notice. When the rocks throw chill shade over much of the clearing, Hien finds whatever sunlight he can to sit in; she remains mostly in the water, leaning on her elbows in the shallows. 

“You’re not cold?” he asks her, seeming perplexed when she shakes her head.

“It’s a fine warm day, shadows or no.” She kicks her feet a little under the water, relishing the cool currents as they swirl past her skin. “Besides, I rather enjoy this view.”

He’s sitting there under waving, blossomy branches, with bamboo-shoot leaves rustling around him. The water has turned his ponytail spiky-sleek and heavy; little droplets cling to his beard, catching the light. His eyebrows lift, just a bit, and a smile to match twitches over his lips as he returns her gaze with interest. “What a coincidence. So do I.”

Thosi feels a faint tingle at the back of her neck, and covers her fluster by retreating a little deeper into the water. She kicks gently, fluttering her arms to keep herself in place. He’s forever doing this—it’s distinctly unfair that he can throw her so far off balance with such simple words. When she looks back at him again, she finds his smile has widened ever so slightly. “Is something funny?”

“No,” Hien replies.

“That gleam in your eye says otherwise. Lying doesn’t become you.”

“But I’m not lying,” Hien protests. “Nor have you seen me do so- but once.”

“And when was that?” She swims closer again.

“Why, in the camp after the battle of Ala Mhigo.”

Only when he grins outright does Thosinund catch his meaning. “Oh for gods’ sake, that was  _awful_ ,” and he yelps when she splashes him.

“Am I to stand for this?” he calls after her as she kicks across the water. “To be thus chastised for trying to amuse?”

“You can swim for it!” she calls back, laughing, and grins to hear the sound of his pursuit.

They lead each other a merry chase around the spring, their shouts and playful taunts echoing through the air, til at last they fetch up happily winded on the far side from where they began.

“I was not teasing you, truly,” Hien tells her once they have both caught their breath. “I swear it.” 

Thosi leans back on one elbow. “Oh no?”

“No. I smiled that way because- well. I never thought to see you shy.”

Again her neck tingles; she brings a hand up to soothe it, casting him a sidelong glance. “I suppose you haven’t at that. Do you like it so much?”

He takes a moment to reply. “It is like rain falling while the sun shines. People say that the foxes are getting married when that happens, that they cause the rain so that no one will see the wedding without being invited. Rare- and lucky- is the human who is allowed to join their celebration… or the man who sees aught but confidence on a warrior’s face.” Another pause. “I… I mean to say that I smiled because your look was like that. Rare, and precious, and an honor to see even by accident… ah, I am not making myself understood.” 

“But you are,” Thosi starts, and falters. She feels an overwhelming tenderness, far too great for words. So she simply turns and kisses him instead.

She’s not in love with him. Not quite. But at times like this, it is a near thing.


	2. Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, given the choice between stewing about a certain ambassador or doing literally anything else, Thosinund much prefers the latter.

Not for the first time, Thosinund asks herself what the hells she thinks she’s doing.

Half the time, the answer is easy- she’s helping, in a word. Finding plants, killing pests, carrying packages, etc. Going about world-saving, one quest at a time.

But the other half of the time, that’s the kicker. The half of the time occupied by smiles and wisecracks and warm sensations in various parts of her anatomy (cheeks, ears, chest, what have you). In  _that_  time, what she thinks she’s doing is anyone’s guess.

Aside from the flippant and the literal, there are several potential answers to the question. “Acting a fool” is one. “Being selfish” is another. “Seeking some godsforsaken happiness in this life, while she can” comes in about third. Either all of them are true, or only one. Thosinund rather suspects the first possibility. That does not reduce the difficulty she has in understanding.

There are some things she is certain of, however. For instance- there has never been any question of priorities. Between love and duty, the latter must always come first.

And if it happens to take her toward the former, well. She’s not complaining.

* * *

The air on the beach is strange, long after Asahi has gone. His snarled threats, the Echo vision of his rescue at Zenos’ hands, continue rattling through her head. It’s been a bizarre couple of days, even for her, and to end with this particular revelation after the previous dizzying set (Gosetsu and Yotsuyu’s mutual survival; their odd companionship; Garlemald having the gall to sue for peace and choosing Yotsuyu’s estranged brother of all people to do it) is just the icing on the tart.

Duty has been completed for the moment, at least. Which is well, because she could use a distraction.

So could Hien, it seems—despite his little jokes and well-maintained air of calm. As the group leaves the shore, he draws her attention with a quiet “Thosinund.”

“Hm?” She turns.

“I know I bade you rest, but… if you find you cannot…”

He trails off; she knows what he means.  _Come to me._ “Even if I wake you?”

“You won’t, I suspect. But all the same.”

_Gods, those eyes._ “All right.”

* * *

She does not need to wait and see, of course. All the way back to Kugane, all the way past sunset, she remains disquieted and discomposed; she couldn’t rest if she wanted to. She only needs what she already has- the invitation.  

It is well that the twins don’t expect Thosi to stay in any one place for long. Back at the Ruby Bazaar, Alphinaud announces his intention to look into the situation in Garlemald, the better to prepare for their next meeting with the ambassador. Alisaie groans and rolls her eyes, for she is all too often commandeered as research assistant.

“Now, now, none of that,” Tataru cuts in. “I received some gorgeous sweets this morning- I was saving them to eat with you! Come on, they’re in the sitting room. Thosinund, do you want any?”

Thosi shakes her head. “Maybe later…”

There’s a bit of a gleam in Tataru’s eye, but she only says, “We’ll save you a few, then.”

Tataru and Alisaie go in one direction, Alphinaud goes in another, and just like that Thosinund is left to do what she will. 

She wants to go at once; she waits a little longer, takes some time to prepare. It doesn’t do to simply vanish at the first opportunity. When she’s ready, she deliberately meanders back in the direction of the Bokairo as if to go to the hot springs, but drifts into an alley along the way. Only then does she draw upon the aether, concentrating… concentrating…

When she materializes at the Enclave aetheryte, the air is still, as well it should be at this hour. No light save moon and torches; no one about save the occasional guard. There is no sound but that of the wind and her own careful footsteps as she makes her quiet way to the Kienkan.

She’s dressed for the occasion: an old tunic she only wears once in a while, over her brown tights and soft leather boots. Packed light, too—the towel she took as a prop now fits under her arm, with a few essentials rolled inside. She picks her path to the back of the great hall, to the servants’ gate of the private courtyard, and slips inside.

From the shadow of the eaves, Hien steps out to meet her.

They do not speak until, by back hallways and light feet, they arrive in his rooms. Or at least she assumes they are his. Is it not true that, to a certain degree, all rooms in the place are his- if this is (for lack of a better term) his palace, and he its lord? At any rate, the one they’ve just entered does not appear particularly royal… on the other hand, Thosinund only has a limited basis for comparison.

But it is certainly nice. Beautiful woodwork, vivid paint on the trim—red, gold, green. The floor is well polished and largely unobstructed. Something like an armoire stands against one wall, while a low chest of drawers runs below the round window that faces the door. There is a screen placed at an angle near the window and the chest, painted with flowering branches in long dark strokes. A warm glow from behind it suggests a lantern placed on or near the floor…

Thosi mentally elbows herself.  _Enough of that. Stop gawking_.

“I rather like it myself,” Hien remarks quietly—he’s followed her gaze. “Everything one wants in a room, almost.”

“Almost?”

“Well.” She can hear him smiling even before she turns to see the fact of it. “Just now it has everything I want.”

Thosi fights down the urge to giggle.

“May I..?”

_You may do anything you like_ , she thinks, before spotting his hand, held out toward her towel-bundle. “Oh! Yes.”

Hien crosses the room to the dresser, atop which he deposits her things. Thosinund follows him slowly, on legs that have suddenly become inclined to tremble—though for the life of her she cannot say why. Perhaps it is the sudden realization of where they are, of what time it is.

“How did you know I was really coming?” she hears herself ask.

“I didn’t.” He turns to her. “I was merely hopeful.”

She frowns. “But… all this time? You were outside?”

“Well, not all of that time. But you see, you did not wake me.” He smiles again.

“Good,” is all she can think to say, because it’s how he looks- with the warmth in his gaze, the reassuring set of his brow. The inviting curve of his lips. She looks at him and feels longing, feels sheer  _want_ , rising up her throat.

“Shall we-” Hien begins, just as Thosi says, “Hien, I-” and they both stop.

He must see the urgency in her face, because he reaches up to take hold of her shoulders just as she’s on the point of bending down, and then- gods,  _finally_ \- they’re kissing.

It’s odd, she thinks, somewhere in her haze of desire. Odd that inexperience is described as green. Depends on the age of it, maybe: the darker the shade, the stronger the life. Great trees, deep waters, broad leaves… they all look brighter in the light…

She abandons thought, then; there’s no room for it. There is only Hien, the pressure of his lips, the firmness of his embrace- firmer than hers, just a touch, for she might well break some part of him if she isn’t careful. They pause only briefly, to stumble behind the screen, then to get to their knees on (gods be good) the bed that’s already unrolled, and promptly resume the embrace.

Boots- not good for the bed. She pushes them off, one after the other. And her tunic is suddenly far too warm; what could ever have possessed her to wear long sleeves… She pulls back just long enough to take hold of the hem and yank it over her head, to peel it off her arms and fling the whole garment aside, then catches the returning Hien as he practically leaps to claim her mouth again.

What the hells does she think she’s doing…?

Well, all right, not  _what._ It’s  _who._ And he’s quite obviously beyond caring about such trifling grammatical details, for he’s slipped out of his own sleeves in the brief seconds they were apart— _oh,_ bare skin. He’s had the light armor off this whole time. Who knew. By some mutual impulse they shift: Thosi lies back and Hien follows her down, planting rows of kisses as he goes, his hair sweeping along after as if to smooth the earth over each one.

What the hells does she think she’s doing…?

She isn’t thinking. She’s just doing.

A very good distraction, as distractions go.


	3. Come and Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I _will_ be all right, Hien," she tells him. "I just need to rest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was just going to do some cozy scenes with sleepy Hien and/or Thosi, and then it turned into a semi-recap of patch 4.3 and now we're here...  
> (Also, important to know: this chapter is Hien's POV.)

Somewhere, birds are calling.

That’s the first thing Hien is aware of, as he wakes. The sky is yet too dark to glow through the papered window frame, but the birds know that the sun is nearly upon them.

The second thing he knows is that he is far, far warmer than he normally is; he pulls himself into a sit, stretching. The lamp is low- it has burned the night through- but it still lends some light to the room… and with the registration of this third crucial detail Hien remembers. Turns his head to the source of the heat.

Thosinund lies there beside him, fast asleep.

Her braids, while somewhat disarranged, are not undone; her fringe falls mostly away from her eyes.  One arm is stretched out beside her pillow, curved around the hollow where his head had been. Her lips are parted slightly in repose—the sight of them makes Hien’s own lips tingle, briefly, with phantom kisses. She looks… content, lying there dreaming. Peaceful. It is a sight to warm a man’s heart right through to the core.

He hopes that he might see her so many more times, before they are through.

* * *

Asahi sas Brutus is quite possibly the worst ambassador for peace in the history of the term. Within minutes of his return with the conscripts, he has brought further trouble—in the form of his parents, the Naeuris, the sight of whom was intended to jolt “Tsuyu” into remembering her former life. But though she cries out and cowers before them, no true recovery is forthcoming… and by the cruelty in Asahi’s smile, it is plain he well knew that this might happen. No doubt he counts himself safe in the knowledge that Hien’s desire to ensure the success of the prisoner exchange must override his personal distaste for such foul tricks.

And then Tsuyu, having slipped away once in search of a persimmon, escapes again in the night. Thosinund is on her feet practically before Hien asks that she and the Leveilleurs aid in the search; she is very nearly first outside, save of course for Yugiri. But it is not Yugiri whom Hien finds kneeling on the pavement beside the aged couple’s bodies, looking dazed.

“What happened here?” he asks, and Thosinund tells him what her Echo has just revealed. Yotsuyu has come back to her old self after all… and her first act was to lay waste to her original tormentors. “We must gather the others,” he says.

“Agreed.” Thosinund’s nod but poorly hides the frown hovering round her brow. “And we probably shouldn’t leave these—” gesturing at the corpses— “lying around. What’s to be done with them?”

Hien glances at them with a frown of his own. “Cremation, I think. As soon as possible. There are some sheds where—what are you doing?”

Thosinund looks back at him. “Moving them. I can carry both.” Still on one knee, she’s already reaching.

“You… do not have to do that,” Hien starts, uncertain, at which point she gasps in pain and falls back. “Thosinund!”

“I’m- it’s-  _ow_ ,” Thosinund pants, a hand to her head. “I’m all right. Just…  _ow_.”

She is not all right, but Hien does not care to waste breath on the obvious. “Can you stand?”

Through her wince, Thosinund eyes the bodies reluctantly. “In a moment. Just… give me a moment.”

He does. Then he holds out a hand, and she takes it to brace herself as she ascends to her feet.

Their walk back to the Kienkan is, of necessity, slower than the exit therefrom. Thosinund continues to assure all who ask that she is well; only when they have actually reached her bed does she drop the pretense and put her hands back to her head, gingerly massaging her temples.

“I will return,” Hien tells her softly. “As soon as I have apprised Gosetsu and the others of what has happened. If you need anything, do not hesitate to call—”

“I will,” she breathes, sounding tired. “Go on with you.”

When he is able to come back, water jug and cups in hand, he finds her asleep once more. She’s unwoven her braids, the lamplight gleaming gold where it touches the loosened locks. The pain has not quite left her face, he thinks. He wishes he could smooth it away.

As if in answer to his thought, Thosinund blinks awake. “Hello,” she says, with a half-smothered yawn.

“Hello,” he returns. “How is your head?”

She takes a moment to answer. “Could be worse. Hasn’t been this bad for a long time, though. Been ages since an Echo hit me like that.”

Hien frowns. “Valuable information aside, I begin to wonder if this Echo of yours is entirely a blessing.”

For some reason that earns him a weary chuckle. “It’s just that her emotions were… intense. Usually I only recognize that the person was frightened, or awed, or what have you. But feeling her despair, her bitter hatred—it was like I’d swallowed ceruleum and then put a match to my tongue.” Another huff of a laugh. “In a way, I think I got off lightly with just the headache. Could have been my whole gut too… Oh, is that water?”

As she drinks, Hien lowers his eyes to his knees, trying to marshal his expression into something less revealing. He is aghast, to put it mildly. When he looks at her again, though, it appears he has been less than successful.

“I  _will_  be all right, Hien,” she tells him. “I promise. I just need to rest.” Beat. “You could… help with that. If you wished.”

Eventually, she does fall back to sleep. Her forehead presses against his knee at the edge of the bed, and his hand lies tenderly on her hair.

* * *

The day of the exchange ends… strangely. On the one hand, the Domans are home. On the other, the Garleans depart with quite a different emissary in tow than the one with whom they arrived: Alphinaud, whom Hien appointed to the position on the spot when his impromptu request to visit the capital was granted. And to top it all off, Gosetsu is gone as well—bound and determined to live out his days in pilgrimage, offering prayers for the many souls lost in Doma’s bitter struggles. 

Thosinund continues her regular visits with contributions to the Enclave’s ever-speeding restoration. As the weeks pass without word from her young friend, though, Hien can see that the uncertainty is taking its toll. 

Their nights together have grown more infrequent, but this night is one of them. Had Thosinund been any less conscious of their difference in stature, she might have thrown herself directly into his arms rather than into his bed; as it is, she was closer to frantic than she has ever been in their lovemaking. Now she rests her head in his lap, eyes closed in an attempt at a doze. 

“Tell me something,” she says, her breath warm on his skin.

“Yes?”

“Do you-” a yawn interrupts her- “do you worry, when you think of Gosetsu? Being off like he is, and all.”

Hien blinks, surprised at the question. “I pray that he is well. And then I leave it to the kami. They do seem to have taken a liking to him over the years.”

“Hm. True.” She frowns a little, but does not open her eyes. “I’m not so sure the Twelve are quite as invested in Alphinaud, despite the frequency with which he invokes them. Well, except Thaliak, of course…” She trails off. There is a bit of a silence.

“I am certain your Twelve will protect him, no matter where he goes,” Hien says. “They have preserved him thus far, have they not?”

Thosinund sits up at that. There is something terrible in her expression, something helpless. Something old.

“If they have,” and her voice fights its way through a constricted throat, “it’s usually through me. And now he’s off to a land where neither they nor I dare tread. What was I thinking, Hien—how could I have let him go…?”

Hien offers his hand, and she holds it tight.

“You thought as I did,” he answers her. “That your friend had chosen his path, and that you would not stand in his way. Sometimes that is all we can do.”

“Like leaving me to get on with defeating Tsukuyomi, even though you wanted to stay?” She smiles, pained, rueful.

He brings up their joined hands. Kisses her knuckles. “…Somewhat like that,” he agrees.

* * *

Somewhere, birds are calling.

But their voices do not wake Hien this day. This day he wakes to great gray arms carefully wrapped around him, and the soft pressure of lips on the back of his head.

“Good morning,” he says, drowsy.

“Good morning,” Thosinund whispers back. “Seems I’ve gone and stolen another night in your bed.”

He laughs, more air than sound. “Clever thief. I could wish to be thus robbed of every night.”

For an instant, Thosinund stills, and he fears he has overstepped. But then he feels her nuzzle into his hair, with a sigh that sets the heron-skin rising pleasantly on his scalp.

“Careful what you wish for,” she says.

He shakes his head. “I do not wish idly, Thosinund. You have your duties and I have mine, but—please, know that you always have a place to rest here.”  _With me_. “Whenever you want it.”

She holds him closer. “…I will remember,” is all she says, but Hien can feel the unspoken words:  _thank you._


	4. The Fox and the Hare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tale of new clothes, fond names and surprising feelings- at the Rising 2018. (Back to Thosinund's POV for this one.)

The Enclave is quite a spectacle, by any definition of the term. Paper lanterns dazzle the eye almost everywhere one looks; above the chattering of the crowd, music can be heard making merry on the wind. Proud displays of crafts stand in the Yard. Performances play out on “stages” here and there along the streets- or rather, on sections of pavement marked off by some means that Thosinund cannot see. A great cloud of enticing smells rises from the Thousand Stalls and permeates the air of the whole place, as if to welcome one and all to Doma's very first celebration of the Rising.

"One cannot have fun on an empty stomach," Alisaie declares, making a beeline for Mitsuba's stall.

Thosi follows, although she is none too hungry; rather, she feels a bit self-conscious. The long rolanberry silk coat and slightly longer black skirt had seemed quite dashing in the privacy of her room, but now all she can think of is the way the former leaves her camise on display... 

“Oh, Y’shtola!” says Alisaie suddenly, making Thosinund startle. “What a nice surprise! I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

“I thought I’d take the evening off,” Y’shtola replies, taking a seat at their table. “With all this clamour, I can hardly do otherwise. Besides, Tataru told me you two would be coming.”

“We had orders,” Thosinund jokes, or tries to. “On pain of stern disappointment.”

Y’shtola nods gravely. “I imagine so. You do seem anxious.”

“Ah,” says Alisaie with a mischievous smirk. “That would be because-”

“Nothing! It’s nothing,” Thosi hastily cuts in. “I’ll be all right.” 

Y’shtola raises an eloquent brow. “I see. In that case, perhaps we ought to take a turn about the Enclave? When Alisaie has quite finished, of course...” 

It takes an age for that to happen, but it does happen. On and on they walk, amidst the sound of cheerful voices and the cool breeze off the river—until, when Alisaie and Y’shtola turn a corner, Thosinund remains behind.

Where would Hien be, on a night like tonight? She comes to a stop beside a display of lanterns in every size, some of them so brightly colored as to leave afterimages on the surrounding dark. She stares at them as if they can tell her the answer, until at last she is forced to look away and rub at her eyes.

“Ah,” says a familiar voice, with some satisfaction. “There you are.” 

Hien grins up into Thosi’s face, a blessed, marvelous grin _._ There’s a pair of wicked sparks dancing in his gaze. “Taking fashion cues from pirates, I see,” he remarks.

“I... I suppose.” Thosi’s neck tingles.

He leans in a little, speaking for her ears alone: “You wear them well.” Then, back to normal volume— “Well, what do you think of our efforts for tonight's festival?”

They wander up and down together. Nibble at snacks, watch musicians and dancers. They are not hand in hand, of course, but they are together, and Thosi feels her mood lifting with every step. She half believes that her body is lifting as well, that she might just scrape the stars with the top of her head before too long.

Then Hakuro comes bounding up, flustered and panting. “My lord! Thank the kami I found you. It is the Buduga—they are drunk to a man, and looking for you.”

Hien blinks. “Is that all? Very well then, I shall seek them out.”

“No!” Hakuro barks, panicked. “The drink makes them bold, too bold! They talk loudly of finding you and carrying you off to the Steppe, once and for all. And there are more of them here than usual—you must run!”

Now Thosi hears shouts cutting through the crowd. A chant, in fact, five or six voices strong: “The firewalker! The firewalker! This night we bring home the firewalker!”

“So that is the way of it,” Hien muses. “They wish to play the hounds, eh?”

“Yes, yes!” Poor Hakuro looks even more distressed. “They are getting closer!”

And Hien’s eyes, all alight, lock onto Thosinund’s.

“Then you and I,” he says to her, “shall play the hares. On my signal. Three- two- one- go!”

* * *

The Buduga never stood a chance. Hien and Thosinund are far too fast. They run and run, right out of the Enclave, far into the night and the wild country beyond. Hien leads the way over hill and dale, past bush and briar, and comes to a stop behind a copse of trees. For a minute or two, there is no sound but that of two people trying very quietly to catch their breath.

“I think we’ve lost them,” Hien says at last, completely straight-faced.

Thosi bursts into laughter, little trickles of tears already flowing down her cheeks from the speed of their flight through the chill night air. It’s a shorter burst than it might have been, as she is still somewhat winded, but this is perhaps for the better. “You think,” she eventually gasps, “you think so?”

“Oh yes,” Hien replies, as Thosi sags against one of the trees for support. “No one shall catch us now, be they Buduga, beast, or bird.”

Her breath is coming easier now. At least, it is until she looks at him once more: the sparks in his eyes have grown to outright flames. Even in the moonlight she can see them there, and feels a matching pair behind her own eyes flare to life.

“You’re wrong, my lord hare,” she tells him. “There is one who will catch you yet.”

Hien stands unflinching. Only his voice dips low. “Is there?”

“Oh, yes,” she purrs. “The fox.”

When they kiss, the fire spreads through them both—searing their eyelids, scorching their lips. She can almost taste the smoke. She bears down on him, curling her arms round him, bringing him to the ground with her hands buried in his hair; the scent of crushed pine needles and soft earth fills her lungs.

_“Mine_ , _”_  she growls between kisses.  _Mine to catch. Mine to keep._ Hien’s arms spasm around her waist, holding her tighter, and he digs his nails into the skin of her back. She hisses her pleasure but doesn’t let up—if anything, she lets down, pinning him in place with her shoulders alone.

Hien’s nails rake long, delicious lines down her back, leaving marks that will take a few bells to fade. He rocks up into her, his interest hot and hard between them; she dips her head to bite at his throat in a display of dominance that’s only half for show, feeling the vibrations between her teeth as he moans, feeling him writhe in her hold—

Feeling, too late, his thighs grip around one of hers, before he catches her shoulders in both hands and deftly turns the tables.

It’s the element of surprise more than anything that allows his maneuver to succeed, but Thosi’s gasp as she hits the ground is one of delight rather than complaint. She’s still got her hands in his hair and she knots her fingers into fists, yanking him into another bruising kiss. Meanwhile Hien takes advantage of her rucked-up skirt, cool air chasing his hand as it slides toward her hip.

“Brazen little rabbit,” she pants, grinning.

“Only with your permission, my lady fox,” he murmurs, his thumb flirting at the waist of her smallclothes.

All the fire within her rushes down to her center, blazing just beside his hand. She nods, breathless. “You have it.”

She lifts up, he pulls down, and the instant his fingers slip inside her Thosinund is gone.

* * *

They should be getting back. Thosinund knows this. The problem is that she cannot seem to move. Hien is stretched out beside her, both of them boneless and utterly spent, her coat and his robe making a haphazard bedroll against the damp earth below.

“What is that you’re humming?” he asks.

His question makes her realize that the tune running through her head has in fact been coming out of her mouth. “Just an old song. Ma and Pa used to sing it all the time.” She sings it again, this time with the words.

_“Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly, rosemary’s green;_  
_When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen._  
_Who told you so, dilly dilly, who told you so?_  
_‘Twas my own heart, dilly dilly, what told me so._

_“Rosemary’s green, dilly dilly, lavender’s blue-_  
_If you love me, dilly dilly, I will love you._  
_And if you doubt, dilly dilly, I’ll gladly swear,_  
_Sure as the fox, dilly dilly, chases the hare.”_

She is not sure why it’s come back to her just now. But it’s a sweet song, and she feels sweet- to say the least. She resumes humming, watching the trees sway in the wind.

Hien is quiet beside her, too quiet, and she suddenly realizes what she's just sung.

_If you love me... I will love you._

She's been so caught up in her own worries that she's failed to consider whether that might be true.

And if it is...? Does she-?

But no, no. They are—taking their time, as they promised each other they would. It has only been a few moons, has it not...? And anyroad, he’s still the lord of Doma; she’s still the Warrior of Light. They’re already sworn- they’ve got people to protect- they… 

“A fitting tune,” Hien says then, thoughtful in the dark. Kisses her cheek. “My lady.”

“I-indeed.” The word comes out in a half-laugh.

“But perhaps we ought not stay here longer. Yugiri will think we have fallen into some den of beasts,” he jokes, sitting up.

Thosinund nods, relieved. Yes.

She deliberately ignores the way the song chases itself around her brain, all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I first heard of "Lavender's Blue" in the text of a book I read in junior high, _The Ordinary Princess_ by M. M. Kaye. Then I went to look it up for this fic and what do you know, they used it in the 2015 Cinderella... But the lyrics seen here are a combination of the ones from that book and the song as sung by Jackie Oates. (YouTube that one if you like- it's really lovely.)


	5. Take a Sip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Thosi (again); a short scene of her first introduction to green tea, courtesy of guess who.

The cup is so tiny in her hands.

Yes, both hands. Thosi feels both are necessary to hold the small, steaming vessel, for safety’s sake. The afternoon sun is bright on the floorboards of Hien’s sitting room, making a warm reddish pool amid the usual darker brown.

“It won’t bite you,” Hien says from his seat on the other side of the tea things, a hint of humor in his voice.

“I know it won’t,” Thosi says automatically. There probably is something a little funny, at least in her lover’s view, about the way she is regarding the contents of her cup. But she cannot help it—she’s never drunk something this green before that didn’t come from a potion bottle or a healer’s hands. Granted, the shade is different than either of those things; this is precisely what makes it so fascinating. The outside of the cup is a speckled tan color like a bird’s egg, but the inside is nearly white, and when she tilts it to catch the light she is deeply struck by how closely the tea resembles… well.

Jade. Moss. New growth- young leaves, fresh grass. In short, nothing so much as Hien’s eyes.

Before he can prompt her again, she lifts the cup to her lips and takes a cautious sip. It has cooled enough that its flavor is not overwhelmed by the heat; she lets the liquid sit on her tongue for a moment, considering, before she swallows.

“Alisaie was right,” she announces. “This stuff does taste like crushed grass.”

Hien sighs, an exaggerated picture of disappointment. “This is your verdict? And to think we took such care to brew it well..”

“Hold on, hold on,” Thosi laughs, and takes another slow sip. “Mmm… hot lichen.” On her third try she holds the tea longer in her mouth before swallowing.

“For something you find so strange, you certainly seem to be savoring it,” Hien teases.  

She is, though. That’s the rub. The third sip is different than the first two—she’s getting used to the particular tang of the tea. It is somewhat bitter, yes, with a dry edge to it, but at the same time it tastes… clean. Distinct. When she allows herself to swallow, she is surprised by the fact that it leaves a sweetness behind on her tongue.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she tells him. “I think I do like this tea of yours, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written based on an item from tumblr user heir-to-the-diamond-throne's list of 64 sensory prompts- specifically no. 9, "a perfectly brewed cup of tea."


	6. Right and Proper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or neither, as the case may be. She will visit the others, as a matter of principle, but she needs to see Hien.  
> (This covers the end and immediate aftermath of patch 4.56. Some cutscene dialogue has been rewritten.)

Thosinund wakes with her head pounding, her body aching, and her mood… curiously blank.

It takes a few blinks before she registers that she’s staring at a ceiling, rather than the smoky sky above the embattled border of Ala Mhigo- though the plaster and rafters have certainly seen their share of filthy weather. She pushes herself into a sitting position and looks around, despite the wave of pain that rolls over her as punishment for being so rash.

Yes- the fireplace, the frosty snap to the air, the other bed across the room, the table full of poultices and potions and other medicines… she’s in the infirmary of the Congregation of the Knights Most Heavenly.

In Ishgard.

How in the hells…?

There is a squeak from beside her; she turns to see an Elezen girl in servants’ garb (bliaud, gloves, tall leather boots over her trousers). The child can’t be a day older than fourteen, and she’s staring at Thosinund with startled eyes. Next instant she’s turned and is positively sprinting out the door, before Thosi can so much as think to form any questions.

Moments later, there is the approach of a rapid clanking step, and the faintly metallic whoosh of a cloak lined with beaten metal, and then Aymeric de Borel is half skidding to a stop in the doorway. She’s never seen Aymeric run anywhere but into the fray.

He strides across the room in the wake of a positive cloud of relief. When he sits at her bedside, she feels it envelop her as well, without quite touching her.

“Wh-” she tries to begin, but finds herself dry of throat. Aymeric is already pouring a tumbler of water and handing it to her, even as she coughs. She takes a metallic sip and tries again. “What am I doing here? And where in gods’ names is Zenos?”

She listens to his explanations with maybe three-quarters of an ear, because when he reminds her of how “Zenos” (Elidibus, but Aymeric isn’t to know that) cut her down in a moment of weakness, she recalls her arrival on that blood-soaked ground. She’d come pelting up and there they’d all been…

Resistance soldiers, thrown back in an arc like so much grain before the scythe.

Yugiri, limp in the dirt.

Lyse, out cold not far from her.

And…

Hien.

He was the only one of them still moving. Prone in the dirt but hitched up on an elbow, straining to rise to his feet, his sword clenched in his hand. She was glad he still breathed. She was damned if she’d let him stop.

Over them all stood the Ascian, an overpowering air of smug patience in the set of his borrowed shoulders, even under the hulking armor.

Aymeric tells her that he and the Ishgardian forces arrived to find her unconscious among the others, that a certain former dragoon stepped up to dance with “Zenos” and keep him occupied while she was spirited away. That, indeed, once the ‘prince’ retreated, Estinien apparently insisted on carrying her from the field himself. That he personally bore her onto the deck of the Excelsior and remained by her side all the way to this very bed. “He did not linger once we had gotten you here, of course. It is not his way.”

“But the others,” Thosinund says. “The Archons? Alisaie, Alphinaud? What of them?”

She can see that Aymeric hates to disappoint her. “None of your friends have woken, I’m sorry to say. Though there is word that the remaining Scions wait for you in the Rising Stones.”

Thosi swallows. “I see. Then—the Resistance folk, and Lyse, and Yugiri and—” Hien’s name sticks in her throat.

“We have buried whom we had to.” He bows his head a moment, then gives her a bracing smile. “Commander Hext will live, as will Lady Yugiri and her master. Zenos did not appear to be concerned with killing them so much as getting them out of his way in order to fight you. Indeed, by what I hear, he was hardly trying to hurt them.”

“Which means they’re only a little maimed, right?”

Aymeric winces. Only with the corners of his eyes. It’s a sad knack he doubtless picked up long before Thosinund ever met him.

“Sorry,” she says wearily. “That was in poor taste. I… that is… where are they?” Beat. “I mean, are they with their own people, or did they get the deluxe flight to Ishgard as well? …Another bad joke. Sorry.”

She knows she must be here not least because of her history with the place. With Ishgard. With Aymeric and Estinien and the lot of them. But Garlean retreat or no, there must still be so many wounded… the healers’ tents overfull, the supplies strained…

Aymeric is hesitating.

“I believe Commander Hext has been transferred to Ala Mhigo proper,” he finally says. “But Lord Hien and Yugiri remain at the border encampment. The Domans would not hear of imposing upon anyone else.”

That’s all Thosinund needs to hear. She makes to stand- only to be halted by Aymeric’s touch on her arm.

“You want to go to them,” he says. “And I know that I could sooner pluck stars from the sky with my bare hands than stop you. But before you do, I must remind you of one thing.” 

She looks the question at him. Waits.

“You are not alone.”

* * *

Fate seems keen to underscore Aymeric’s parting words. On her way to Mor Dhona, Thosinund is met by Lord Edmont in the Congregation foyer, then accosted by Emmanellain and Honoroit at the gate of Camp Dragonhead, all with exclamations of relief that she is so much recovered and wishes for her continued improvement. She hears their words- hears the feeling behind them, but the curious blankness with which she awoke has not dissipated. It keeps everything around her at a slight distance, like a personal fog.

Well, almost everything. In the Rising Stones, she discovers a recently returned, highly distressed Tataru.

Poor Tataru. What a dreadful homecoming—no amount of warning could fully prepare anyone for the sight of no less than five comatose friends, or the news that the realm’s best hope has been laid low for what Aymeric says was nearly a week. She stands there practically dissolving with tears in the midst of the common room and straight-out begs Thosinund to rest. To stay back from the fighting. To let the remaining Scions handle the search for strange artifacts around the Crystal Tower and trust that the Alliance armies will hold back the Garleans in the meantime.

Blankness or no, Thosinund cannot possibly refuse such a desperate plea. But resting does not mean she must sit down to grow moss on her shoulders, and the terms of her promise leave her but a single acceptable option for spending her time.

The very next day, she sets off for Ala Mhigo.

It is only right, after all, that she should inquire after her fellow fighters. Especially when they so valiantly held the line to give her time to arrive. Since Aymeric was right there when she woke, she is assured of his health; now she must simply make certain of the others.

Thus, here is Thosinund, flying many malms high in the air on Agatsyng’s faithful back. She stops every so often to let the bird rest, to give him a snack and a pat on the beak. Then on they fly, toward the dark mass over the horizon that is the border.

With every wingbeat, the fog recedes, replaced by urgent purpose.

It is only right that she should visit them. To thank them for their aid, for putting themselves on the line as they have. In times like these, who knows when she will get the chance again to give them the outpouring of gratitude they truly…

No, enough of this mental mumbling. She will visit the others, as a matter of principle, but she needs to see Hien. Needs to see with her own eyes that he still breathes, that he is healing. Aymeric has never lied to her yet, but the fact remains that upon this point no mere words will be enough.

And under it all runs a steady current of one single thought:  _not again, not again, not again…_

They arrive in the early evening, not that one would be able to tell with the gloom perpetually spread over the place (a combination of fire smoke, magitek exhaust and naturally attracted clouds). Thosinund scans the area for the Doman flag—finds it—lands a short distance away from the likeliest tent, and approaches the nearest sentry.

“Lord Hien is still recovering from his wounds, Mistress Haldkhanwyn,” the soldier tells her.

“Indeed,” she responds, “as am I. Let him know I’m here, please?”

It’s not Alliance business really. She lets them think it is. She waits with strained, unsteady patience until, at last, she is permitted entry.  

Hien does not look…  _well_ , of course. His cheeks are far paler than they ought to be, and he seems a touch smaller without his customary fur-trimmed robe. Bandages cover various points on his arms, his chest, his waist; the blackish-purple edges of bruises can be seen around them, hinting at larger ones beneath. Still, none of the linens show stains, and as she approaches the bedside he is sitting up.

And smiling.

“They told me you had come,” he says, and the last of the blankness in Thosinund’s head vanishes to whence it came.

_Of course I did_ , she wants to say. Or  _You’re alive_ , or even  _Thank the Twelve_ , but her tongue will not move. He wasn’t Called, like her friends. She knew this. He hadn’t been killed; she knew that. But she had not counted on the sheer painful relief of hearing Hien’s voice.

“Yes,” she manages, finally. There’s a seat handy, and it takes some effort to prevent herself from simply falling into it. “I… would have been here sooner. If I’d had my druthers.” She thinks of returning his smile, but isn’t sure it will work.

“Naturally,” he says. “And if you had not, we would have come to you.”

“Naturally.”

More words stick in Thosinund’s throat.  _Is it bad?_ –well of course it is, look at him.  _Are you in great pain?_  –even if he was, he wouldn’t talk about it. Most of her thoughts won’t form proper sentences. She finds herself looking him over, from the lump that is his blanketed legs to the top of his head and everywhere in between. Over and over him, again and again. She feels heat behind her eyes- probably from the flight, or fatigue, or both.

Hien’s smile softens; concern draws in his brows. “Thosinund? I know this is a foolish question, but- are you all right?”

“…Yes,” she repeats, and her vision swims, and the tears cascade down her cheeks.

She cries so hard it makes no sound. The more she tries to stop, the harder her sobs become. She sinks to her knees on the floor, buries her face in the crook of her arm and weeps. 

“Thosinund,” she hears Hien say, as from a long way off; she feels a hand cover her own and thinks her ribs may crack. He’s been through enough- he shouldn’t have to worry about comforting her as well. But these tears cannot be denied by god or man.

She knows now: she loves him. Right or not. Proper or not. She loves him, in spite of everything, in spite of herself. She loves him, and by some miracle she hasn’t lost him yet. She loves him, and he’s alive to hear it.

She looks up, with effort. Meets Hien’s eyes.

And tells him so. 


	7. Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in a long time, Hien wants to control some measure of fate.
> 
> Perspective flip on the previous chapter- and also a bit of follow-up as well.

Hien has never liked convalescing.

It is, of course, part and parcel of battle- even if one is not facing a foe unfairly imbued with otherworldly powers. To take the field is to take on wounds. But it has been rather a while since Hien has spent this long abed, with little beside his own thoughts to occupy him.

Yugiri is healing well, by all accounts, now that her tent has been moved next door to her lord’s; it permits her to at least hear what is happening with him, since she is yet too injured to pursue her usual duties as his protective shadow. General Aldynn’s last report provided similar news of Commander Hext- who, it seems, is rather restless herself in recovery. Against all odds, the Garleans have been retreating—a truly mystifying development. On the other hand, the less strain upon the Alliance forces, the better.

And when he tires of going in mental circles around that, his mind can rest upon but one subject.

Thosinund.

His last memory prior to this tent is of her. Of her feet thudding past him in the dirt, of her standing ready to face the thing that wore the Garlean prince’s body. Sword in one hand, shield in the other, a tower of strength- and Hien remembers thanking the kami that he and the others were able to buy her enough time to join the fight. If he could not rise to grant her further aid… well, he was sure he would enjoy the tale of her victory.

But she fell.

Now she rests in the Ishgardians’ care, according to the General, transported by the Ironworks’ swiftest airship. She has been there for five days already, with no word as to whether or not she has woken… and Hien is going ever so slightly mad.

Whether because of her peculiar gifts or her own stubbornness, he knows that Thosinund has a tendency to push herself beyond the limits of ordinary folk. That she feels she must do more than most, simply because she can. He knows, too, that he is not the only one to whom this trait is both inspiring and worrisome—although her friends have long since given up even thinking of taking her to task about it. Indeed, perhaps they thought she had learned to regulate herself, if by her own impossible standards… but as Hien is painfully aware, there is a first time for everything.

He just wishes this one had not come  _now_.

* * *

The passage of time is difficult to gauge here, under the perpetually smoky sky. Day moves almost imperceptibly into night, which turns into yet another day. The nights are distinguished by cooler temperatures, greater darkness, and the sharp drop in the noise level when it is time for folk to retire to their tents. It is not that time yet, this evening, and Hien is glad of it. The long hours of quiet do not bring nearly enough sleep—his worries see to that.

When had he stopped leaving such things to the will of the kami? He cannot recall. Mayhap around the time of Gosetsu’s departure. As always, the thought of the man’s name inspires a brief prayer; he still hopes to see his old retainer return someday, when the man might decide at last that his pilgrimage is at its end. Another thing he cannot control.

The difference is that, for the first time in a long time, Hien  _wants_  to control some measure of fate.

He reminds himself, again, that the kami have limited jurisdiction in Eorzea. Here the people believe in but twelve gods, and often choose a particular patron from among them. He is not sure that Thosinund has ever told him which is hers. If she had, he could have spent some of this accursed wait in petitioning that deity’s aid…

…at which point there is the sound of wings descending, and the heavy thump of corresponding feet upon the ground outside.

Well, this is something at least. It might be another report. Possibly even one containing good news. It is not a strong possibility, but still… 

Immediately following Hien’s evening check-over, the guard on duty steps smartly into the tent and bows. “My lord, Mistress Haldkhanwyn of the Alliance has come to see you. Will you receive her?”

“…I will,” Hien says after a second, careful to keep his voice calm in contrast to the sudden racing of his pulse. “Though I cannot do so lying down.”

With the healer’s help, Hien is able to sit; his bruises ache and throb with the pounding of his heart. Both men leave, then; he does not know which of them shall bid his visitor enter, but he does not care. Just so long as—

She enters.

Thosinund looks… better than one might expect, for having been laid so low. That is not to say she looks quite well; her slow step bespeaks fatigue, and her hair, despite cursory efforts to smooth it, is still a touch windswept. There is a strange pallor to her skin, too, which he hopes he is imagining. And yet—her eyes are just as bright as they have ever been, and Hien feels a smile spreading over his face quite of its own accord.

“They told me you had come,” he says.

She takes a moment, crossing to the seat at his bedside. “Yes,” she replies then, sitting carefully down; perhaps she is in more pain than she wishes to show. “I… would have been here sooner. If I’d had my druthers.”

Kami preserve him, he cannot stop smiling. To know she had woken would have been enough, but to have her here, herself- her presence is apt to make him lightheaded at the best of times. This, however, is something else again. “Naturally,” he hears himself say. “And if you had not, we would have come to you.” (He had anticipated the difficulty of showing he was well enough to travel, the instant he was able to stand on his own. He would have moved heaven and earth to go to her. He does not tell her this.)

“Naturally,” she repeats.

There is a strange intensity in Thosinund’s gaze, he sees now. It sweeps over him repeatedly, from top to toe and back again. She is looking for something, perhaps? But she does not say what. Perhaps she does not know.

“Thosinund?” he asks. “I know this is a foolish question, but- are you all right?”

Her eyes snap to his, brilliant turquoise, burning blue. “…Yes,” she says again, and next moment her face is wet with tears.

Hien’s smile slips away entirely in his shock. Thosinund slides off the stool, shielding her face in the crook of her arm; her shoulders heave with sobs he cannot hear as she leans upon his cot, which shakes in turn. His first confused thought is that his question has distressed her. His second is an overwhelming wish to comfort. He tries to touch her far shoulder, but his battered body forbids it, so he settles for placing his hand over hers as it clenches in the blanket. “Thosinund,” he says, though it does not seem to reach her ears. Still, she does not take her hand away.

Just when Hien begins to think she might go on crying for ever, Thosinund raises her head. Above her tear-stained cheeks, within the poor darkened rims, her eyes are brighter than he has ever seen them—they pierce him to the marrow. And she speaks:

“I love you.”

The words ring in his ears like cannon fire.

Hien stares at her, dumbly, stunned stupid at what he thinks she has just said. Perhaps he is fevered, and has not noticed it til now. At any rate she has spoken, and he must answer, but for the life of him he cannot form a response.

“Do you hear me, Hien Rijin?” Thosinund demands, though her voice is still quiet. “I love you. I am  _in love with you_ ,” and the word “love” splinters in her throat, and he knows then that this is no fever dream. That she was weeping for joy.

“I hear you,” he tells her, speaking softly in his daze. “And I, too- I am in love with you.”

She kisses him then, so gentle that it’s almost chaste; she retakes her seat and gathers him into her arms.

“I should have told you before,” she murmurs over his head. “I feared I’d be too late. But this time the Keeper answered my prayers.”

So that is the name of her patron god… There’s a joke to be had in there. Hien can feel it. Then it comes to him- he grins to himself. “It so happens mine were answered as well.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed. I was praying to all who would listen- that they might  _keep her_.”


	8. Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aka: the Parting Fic. Set roughly a moon/month-and-a-half after the last chapter. 
> 
> POV is still Hien.

The time has come.

Hien knows it before Thosinund has even said a word. Her manner betrays it- there is a hesitance, a gravity in her movements as she enters the borrowed chamber. The mere act of shutting the door takes several seconds longer than normal, even considering that she is trying to make it as quiet as possible.

“You have news,” he says, when she finally turns around.

“Yes.” She crosses the room in a few long strides and joins him on the settee, tucking her legs to one side. “Tataru says the search team has breached the trench around the Crystal Tower. The beacon is down there, somewhere… I’m supposed to join them tomorrow. Help look for it. Or let it find me, I guess.” A pause, ending in a short sigh. “I should be happier about this than I am.”

Her voice is as downcast as her eyes. It seems to pass through his whole body via the ears, brushing every bruise on the way. When she turns one palm upward on her knee, he covers it almost smoothly with his own, lacing his fingers through hers.

“I should be happier,” Thosinund repeats, as though to herself. “I’m finally going to go get my friends back. To put things right. I’m going to do what I always do. But…” She falters.

He squeezes her hand. She returns the pressure.

“You will,” he agrees. “You will find them. But only a fool assumes there is nothing to fear in another world, and you are no fool.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not that—well, not just that. I don’t know how long I’ll have to—how long I’ll—” A breath. “I don’t know how long I’ll be. Away.” 

Now at last she meets his eyes, and Hien has to catch his breath: hers are  _aching_. Were he standing, he’d have staggered with the force of it. He sees her swallow before she speaks again.

“I can’t take you with me,” she says at last. “It’s me the Caller wants. I have to go alone. I don’t know what I’ll find there, I don’t know what I’ll have to do or fight or—it’s me he wants. And that’s a good thing—a safer thing—even if you weren’t still recovering, it’d be the only way. I  _know_  this. I know it. I just—” She breaks off.

“Thosinund,” Hien starts, and then she is drawing him into her lap, gentle and inexorable as a current in the tide. She cups his face in her hand and kisses him as fiercely as she dares, a kiss that speaks more clearly than all her tangled words:  _I love you. I love you. I can’t bear to leave you behind._

His muscles may protest all they like, but Hien’s heart is louder—he must and will embrace her. He drags his arms half around her back and lets her bring them the rest of the way; he meets her kiss with a will, grateful that she holds him so close. He curls his fingers into her shirt, tight as they’ll go, trying to make up in spirit what he cannot match in strength.

It’s not enough, not to his mind. By rights he should be tugging her to the bed in its screened corner and giving her a ravishing to remember. Both of them writing their love with nails and teeth on each other’s skin. Instead it’s all he can do to get his limbs to obey him even this much—he does not regret the battle, only the aftermath. (He might just have to make that Ascian pay, some day. If Thosinund doesn’t get there first.) It’s not enough but he does it anyway, using his grip on her shirt to anchor himself, breathing her in—windblown hair, a hint of salt, mouth faintly sweet like some kind of fruit—

—and suddenly it hits him that she’s going farther away this time than she’s ever gone before. Beyond the reach of letters, of linkpearls, of aetherytes. Kami forfend, if she doesn’t come back—but  _no_ , she must, she will, and he wants to crush her to him, to leave some mark or stain of her on him right through to the bone.  _Gods_  he’s going to miss her—

“Hien?” Thosinund pulls back only far enough to speak, her eyes bright shards of dismay. “Shite, was that too hard, did I-”

“No,” he tells her, low, urgent. “Not hard enough.”

If he must ache, he will ache because of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the "borrowed chamber" is of course somewhere in the Mhigan palace because Lyse is nice that way.)


	9. Sail to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She never thought her nameday would come so far from home, but it has. Here on the First.
> 
> (Or: in which I come up with an elaborate story to explain the nameday gift I got for my girl, because I can't just do these things on a dime.)

Thosinund wakes in the middle of the night, consumed with a strange urgency. There is something she has forgotten.

She scrambles to sit up in bed, but then realizes she has no idea why. The city is silent outside her window. Her linkpearl doesn’t work here, so cannot ring. And no one seems to be knocking on her door… What on earth can it be that has wrenched her out of sleep?

And then it hits her.

She’s twenty-seven today.

She never thought her nameday would come so far from home, but it has. Twenty-seven. Here on the First, full of sickening Light, with the tangible spirits of all her friends… so far from her family. So far from her love.

Thosi’s heart sinks, thinking of them. Are they wondering, are they worrying? When this is over she’ll go straight to them—but then her heart sinks further, because she ought to know. It’s never over. Not in this job. When she can leave the First, then. But when will that be…?

She needs to check on them. She needs to know.

“…Feo Ul?” she says, softly in the dark. No answer. She tries again. “Feo Ul? Beautiful branch? I… I need you.”

Motes of sparkling magic appear in the air, dazzling, and then the pixie is there.

“Sapliiing!” they trill, far too loudly for this time of night; it is a good thing the walls are so thick. “Why is it so dark? I can’t see my adorable sapling without any light!” They flit close, frowning, filling Thosi’s vision with glowing orange and pink (waving pigtails, fluttering wings).

Thosi slips off the bed, crosses to the desk and pulls the chain on the lamp there. “Is that better?”

“Yes. Much.” Feo Ul gives a satisfied mid-air twirl, only to deepen their frown upon catching sight of Thosinund’s face. “Such a melancholy expression my sapling has. Tell me what troubles you—and what I must do to fix it.”

Thosi looks at her ‘branch,’ hovering expectantly. “Feo, when we first made our pact and you visited Tataru—you’ve been to see her a few times since then, yes? Can you visit anyone back home?”

Feo Ul doesn’t hesitate an instant. “Of course I can! So long as you know them and remember them well, that’s all I need to find them.”

“Then…” Thosi takes a deep breath. “Then could you find two people for me? My pa, and my… and my sweetheart.”

* * *

She is able to rest again after sending her branch on their mission. She had thought that would be the end of it. After all, Feo Ul never brings back Tataru’s replies, only makes the reports as requested. The fae are very literal that way: if one does not specify a thing, one does not get it.

This is why it comes as some surprise when, while looking over Amh Araeng, the pixie suddenly appears without being called. “Sapling! Sapling, I would speak with you.”

Thosinund blinks, startled. “Yes?”

“I have been to your father, and your lover, and look what has followed me back!”

Out of the air beside Feo Ul appears—a bird? Yes, a magpie, its feathers gleaming in patches of black and white: black head, white body; black wingtips, white wing roots; black tail, white breast. It flies straight to Thosinund, chirping, trilling; absurdly, it sounds as if it is trying to cheer her up. 

“Your lover was talking about creatures like these,” Feo Ul informs her. “About how they are signs from someone called Menphina. He said he hoped she would send one to grant you her protection. ‘Not that she would need it,’ he said, ‘but it wouldn’t hurt.’ And then what happens but this one spots me, and won’t let me rest unless I take it along.” 

The little magpie circles Thosi’s head, trilling madly, as if to confirm every word of Feo Ul’s tale. 

“Ah, it wants to stay with you. Good.” Feo tosses their head. “It was an acceptable mount, but it doesn’t care to play properly.” 

Thosi looks from bird to pixie and back, something almost painfully tender welling up in her chest. “And they… are they well?”

“Your father, yes. He stood in a field with a lady almost as braw as you, and told her he was sure you were all right. She said she’d believe it when you told her so yourself.” 

Thosi swallows down the first threat of a lump in her throat. That’s Pa, all right, steadily optimistic to her ma’s guarded hopes. Feo Ul, meanwhile, speaks on.

“As for your lover- oh, what hair! Your memories didn’t lie. I was hard-pressed not to leave him a few knots to remember you by.” Feo pauses thoughtfully. “I can still do it, if you wish. He looked as if he would like them.” 

“Feo…” Thosi sighs, and the pixie snorts with laughter.

“Yes, yes, I know! He did not have as many bandages as you remembered him having. He was sitting in the courtyard of a palace, and the Drahn girl with the white horns sat by him. She also thought a magpie would not go amiss.” 

Thosinund has more questions, but she cannot quite remember what they were. The magpie sings its song, and flits in its joyous path, and she feels a little better. 

Maybe it will be all right, after all. 


	10. Palette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memory is a wonderful painter.
> 
> Or: In which Hien, on the mend from that skirmish with Zenos, has plenty of time to reflect on some moments from pre-4.4 to post-4.56.

In the far East, the evening sky is always a dazzling sight.

As the sun sinks, it paints the air by degrees. First, a gentle wash of pale yellow, not unlike certain roses. Next the golden hue of buttercups, which deepens to a ripe-persimmon orange, growing ever riper as the sun continues down the sky. The mountains turn bluer and bluer, but only when the sun has disappeared completely does the brilliant stain finally yield to the ink-dark indigos of night.

Perhaps this sounds unbelievable, mayhap even unnatural. But the Doman sunset cares not a whit for mortal opinions. It simply carries on as it always has.

* * *

“There.” Thosinund completes the final stroke and retracts her hand. “Now guess.”

“Hm…” Stretched out on his stomach, Hien takes a moment to think on the phantom word, drawn with great care by his lover’s fingertips in a column down his bare spine. “… ‘Anticipation’?”

“Yes.”

Her smile is audible, but he rolls over to see it anyway. He is rewarded with a glimpse of her pleased face– only a glimpse, for she presses him back whence he came with a grinning mock-admonishment. “No peeking, my lord hare. The game isn’t over.” 

“Does that mean you will tell me what it is you anticipate?” 

For answer, her fingers return to his back and begin drawing again. Well, writing, but the two actions are very much alike without the distinction of ink vs. paint on paper. This seems to be a longer word than the previous one; he concentrates on the shapes.  _Ni… chi… bo…_

“‘Sunset,’” he ventures.

“Right,” Thosinund beams. She sounds rather proud of herself– as well she might be. He knows how diligently she has been working to learn the many characters, in their infinite combinations.

“You anticipate the sunset,” he connects aloud, and begins to grin himself. “I wonder why.”

“I bet you do.” The floorboards creak faintly as she drops a kiss on his shoulder, right at the edge of the great scar, leaving a little ripple of heron-skin behind. (They are hardly new lovers, but her kisses still have this effect. Long may it continue.)

The moving fingers return. Her lines are more confident now. “‘The night’… ‘is’…” A hum of affirmation, followed by the longest word yet. “‘A gift!’” He chuckles. “I sense one more ‘why’ that begs to be answered—go on, then.”

He feels an unexpected heat rise to his face when she triumphantly writes his own name on his skin; taking a breath to reply, he finds himself coughing on air before he can speak. “I see. Bold, lady fox.”

“As brass,” she smirks, and slides down beside him.

When he rolls over this time, she does not stop him; she merely meets his gaze, still smirking as she props her head up on one broad gray hand. Her eyes look a little greener in the lamp’s gentle glow. They are bright with many things: pride, yes, and amusement, and the promise of more boldness in the offing… but her hair is brighter still, its autumn-bronze waves brushed with gold at the crests. It falls around her face, over her hand, to graze the pillow below.

“Well written,” he hears himself say, distantly. And, “Is the game finished now…?”

Thosinund bares her teeth in a wide ivory crescent, setting the blood singing in him: he knows she is ready to pounce. “Well guessed.”

She reaches out to draw him to her. He’s already halfway into her arms.

* * *

Following the Alliance meeting and its disheartening denouement, Hien does not see Thosinund for a good fortnight—and another week after that. When she finally resumes her usual routine, he does not quite recognize her until she bows farewell to Kozakura and turns around.

“Hien,” she says, with a wan smile. Asks, “What do you think?”, gesturing to her hair: shorn, refashioned, ending in wisps at the level of her chin.

Hien hardly knows what to say. It does frame her face nicely, and yet he cannot help thinking that it looks as though she is in half mourning. But no, she does not wish to hear that… “I believe it may grow on me,” he answers at last, hoping she hears the joke; he is rewarded with a short laugh. Good.

This is a misty day, with sunlight thickly veiled in layer on layer of cloud. The rice fields are shrouded in it; buildings and trees vanish bit by bit as the pair of them walk. Thosinund is quiet as they walk, going farther and farther into the wilds beyond the borders of the Enclave. She does not trip, but neither does she quite seem to see the world before her. Only when they stop to rest in the shelter of an overhanging rock does she speak.

“It was weighing me down,” she says, eyes on the ground. “Or something. I don’t know quite how to explain it. But I’m just… there’s so little I can  _do_  now, no matter how much I want to. I can’t bring them back until we find out where they’ve gone.”

So it is a kind of mourning after all. Hien leans closer in to her side. “The waiting is hard to bear. But it will end.”

Thosinund needs not open her mouth to respond. Her whole body sags, and Hien can feel her thinking:  _will it, though?_

She takes his hand, wraps an arm around his shoulders. He winds his own arm about her waist. The dampness of the day is apt to chill, but wherever their bodies touch, her warmth drives away the cold. They sit in silence for time uncounted, watching the silhouettes of the pines some short distance away.

Then- “Look,” Thosinund is saying, and Hien blinks out of his own reverie to see that the mist has dissipated just in time for day’s end. The sky (currently golden yellow) seems especially vivid out here, unobstructed by aught but the little stand of pines and the bristle of scrub below. Even the One River can be seen, glittering near the horizon.

“All the time I’ve spent here,” Thosinund says, her voice so soft. “All the places I’ve been. And yet.”

“And yet?” he asks.

“And yet,” she goes on, as the sun continues its descent through the ripe-persimmon heavens. “There isn’t another sunset in the world to match the ones I see here.”

He looks to her and his heart quickens in his chest. Her hair is blazing in this light, brazen, all amber and roses and sweet red honey; he half expects it to scorch his fingers should he reach up and touch. Every kami-blessed ilm of her is lovelier than that sky could ever be.

“There is one,” he says, the words slipping out quite of their own accord. “But she cannot always see herself.”

* * *

In the land surrounding Ala Mhigo, the lakes bleach all they touch with salt. The rocks are reddish, dusted chalk; the lakeshore is a ring of crusted white (putting Hien faintly in mind of the Burn). Even the sky is affected—it dawns but faintly pink, it hints at midday blue. Evening brings a creamy yellow, which lingers awhile and fades swifter than it came. 

But the city itself is a thing apart, its stones a rich, unadulterated terra-cotta red from ramparts to pavement. Just seeing it gives one a sense of a history still richer. Hien has no doubt that young Alphinaud would gladly recite it all, were the boy’s soul and body still united as they ought to be. They soon will be again, if the kami decree that Thosinund’s journey is successful. 

With the retreat of their prince, or the thing wearing his skin, the Garleans have held back for weeks. Hien’s wounds and their attendant bruises heal more by the day, the livid purples and blues turning steadily to yellow-greens and then to browns. He and Yugiri still sleep in the Doman encampment, but they work steadily with Lyse to regain their strength—among the tents or in the palace courtyards, wresting back control of their movements bit by bit. None can say what will happen when their Warrior returns, so they must be ready to fly to her aid. Leaders cannot afford to lie too long abed.

It is not perhaps fair of Hien to think that the Lochs’ muted colors and the Scions’ stolen souls are somewhat alike. The former is entirely natural; the latter is a violation of nature, a retrospective portent of all that has happened since. But he can still see how Thancred slumped to the floor like a dropped puppet, how Alisaie fell to the earth as a flower caught in the sweep of the scythe. He remembers the hollow ache in his beloved’s eyes, the night she came to say goodbye.

He has much time to think on these things. Far too much time. He could wish for less.

The world seems paler every day that she is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my answer to "orange sunsets" from a list of sensory prompts on the tumbl. I got a bit carried away, as you can see...


	11. O My Heart, pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: right after end of Shadowbringers. (Some in-game dialogue is used.) Thosi thinks she's come back to the Source alone. She is wrong.

Being on the Source again is… it doesn’t feel real, somehow. Thosinund lands lightly on her feet in the Syrcus Trench, the portal’s magic depositing her as though she were made of glass. She feels the difference when it dissipates, feels her weight reassert itself with a downward tug.

She is alone, at first- all her closest companions, even the magpie, left behind on the First. As she approaches the entrance to the worksite, she spies a lone figure clothed in- yes, the Ironworks’ uniform. It turns at the sound of her footsteps, resolving into an elven- no, an  _Elezen_  woman, who jumps a good half-yalm at the sight of her. Thosinund gives a little wave, a tired smile.

“She’s back- I mean, you’re back!” the woman exclaims, then pauses uncertainly. “You  _are_  her, right? The Warrior of-”

“Yes,” Thosi finishes for her. “The Warrior has returned. Any chance I could catch that ferryboat?”

It seems incredible, the way everything looks… just as it was. As if no time at all has passed. The Crystal Tower—the here one, the now one—looms over the gently glowing landscape, rising thousands of yalms into the night sky. The moon and the stars are still in their spheres. Hells, she’s even wearing the same outfit she was when she left, almost all in different leathers: wine-red jacket over soft long-sleeved shirt and black pants, thigh-high brown boots, heavy black gloves. If not for the surprise in the Ironworks Elezen’s voice, she could almost believe she had never been gone.

Revenant’s Toll is fairly quiet when she gets there, its shadows tinted the same old aetheryte blue. A few stragglers linger in the Seventh Heaven, too lost in their own heads to make much fuss when she walks through. The staff are, oddly, nowhere to be seen.

And then: the Rising Stones. Thosinund could weep at the sight of it. Every breath of its air seems a greeting; the sound of her footfalls comes back from the walls like a pat on the shoulder. Here too it is quiet, but quiet in a way that reassures, that wraps itself softly round her and asks for nothing more. She stands at the foot of the steps and lets it all sink in: the friendly old tables, the books and bottles on their shelves, the glow of the lamps and the dark windowpanes—

—and the sound of voices from somewhere nearby.

Two voices at least—maybe three?—that sound faintly familiar in a way she can’t quite place. One is distinctly higher. Thosinund creeps forward a few soundless steps, listening… ah, yes, it’s coming from the Solar. Even as she moves, she can hear one of the speakers coming closer to the far side of the door, which then proceeds to rattle and open.

“…who that could be at this time of night,” comes Tataru’s voice, “but it’s probably just someone back from a late expedition. Excuse me for a moment.”

There she is- the same as ever: her lilac hair tucked under its dark red beret, her expression one of wary curiosity. Her fuchsia-pink eyes go wider than usual as she sees just who has come slinking into the Stones.

“But—but—but—! Thosinund?! Is it really you?!” sputters the surprised Scion, hands flailing every which way. “B-b-but how?? When?? We didn’t think you’d be back for  _ages_!”

Good old Tataru. “Would you rather I went again?” Thosinund asks, her smile tilted sideways to show she’s joking; she has no intention of leaving anytime soon.

“Oh, don’t be daft!” Tataru starts, when she’s interrupted by a larger, more hesitant voice.

“Thosi?” 

Is that—? Thosinund stares as the Solar door opens wider and a man comes through.

His short, tufted bronze-and-copper hair is streaked with silver. Turquoise eyes the mirror of her own peer out from his wind-weathered face. His traveling clothes are still a bit dusty; his boots still bear a fleck or two of mud. As she stares in growing disbelief, the man cracks a tentative smile.

“…Pa?” Thosinund’s throat is suddenly tight.

“Thosi, my girl,” he says, his face broadening into a grin. “Welcome home.”

“She’s not home yet,” comes another speaker, bustling round his shoulder. Her light brown hair is braided back, her burly arms only accented by the warm brown straps and bone-white sleeves of her best smock. Her tawny eyes sweep Thosi up and down in a quick yet thorough pass, as though to make sure she’s all in one piece—

“ _Ma!”_ Thosinund gasps, and Tataru slips deftly out of the way as the weary Warrior barrels into her parents’ waiting arms.

* * *

Thosi distantly remembers telling Tataru, in one of her first reports via Feo Ul, that it was all right to let Ma and Pa know the general outline of her travels in the First. Seems the generalities finally got too vague for Ma’s taste, at which point nothing would do but she must hear it straight from the chocobo’s beak. So they left Kroem and Doen in charge of the smithy and the farm, respectively, and set off for Mor Dhona at once.

“I told your ma you’d be all right,” Pa says, yet again (not that Thosi minds the repetition). “I told her so many times.”

Ma sighs, her fringe stirring in its wake. “Can you blame a woman for wanting the whole truth about her only daughter’s safety?”

Thosi, wedged happily between them on the couch, gives each a one-armed hug. “I would have come to see you all. You know I would.”

“Maybe,” says Ma dryly, “assuming you weren’t caught up in yet another world-shaking campaign inside of a week. You’ll be the death of me yet, you wild child.”

“I’m not… quite done with this one,” Thosi must admit- though at her mother’s frown she adds, “But I’m back to stay for now. So don’t worry.”

Ma’s brow clears; she gives a short nod. “Good. And anyone who tries to fetch you away before you’re good and ready will have their work cut out for them.”

Pa chuckles. “Dang right they will. Even though she had to leave the hammers home.”

“Oh aye, but I’ve a spare one in my boot.”

They all sit there for bells and bells, none of them wanting to move very far. Tataru, assured of their mutual comfort, has long gone to bed by the time they droop into sleep right where they are- Thosi’s head on her mother’s shoulder, her pa’s arm round them both.

In the morning: breakfast and belated teeth-cleaning, after which they settle down at a corner table in the common room. Thosi does not know where to begin her tale of the First, and her parents don’t ask her to find it. Instead they fill her in on all the news from home, every little thing they can think of (and the big things too). How the forge is doing (well); how the farm is doing (fair); how her brothers are doing—in good health, plugging along at their respective jobs, neither of them seeming much inclined toward romance at the moment. Life back home sounds amazingly quiet, all things considered. The few families with members in the Grand Companies are not cheered to hear of the fighting at the Ala Mhigan border, but they maintain an air of stubborn optimism as best they can.

Thosinund wonders if those families simply don’t speak of such things in her family’s hearing, considering the perceived difference between a mere mortal soldier and the  _Warrior of Light_ … Then, out of  _gods-damned thin air_ , there is a sort of rushing sound from beside her—and a creature appears.

A winged creature.

_The magpie_.

It flits in joyous circles around Thosi’s head, a jabbering black-and-white blur of motion. For a second or two, no one speaks, all silenced by the strange apparition.

Her mother is the first to recover. “What in the seven hells—go on now, shoo!” she scolds the bird, swatting in its general direction.

“No, Ma, it’s okay!” To prove it, Thosi holds out her hand; the magpie lights in the center of her bare palm, puffing itself up proudly and redoubling its speech. “I know this one. It knows me too, sort of.”

“But what t’hells is it doing in here?” Ma counters. “Birds aren’t supposed to be inside. Make a mess of the place.”

“Not this one,” Thosi says, staring into the little creature’s face. It concludes its remarks and proceeds to settle itself neatly down in her hand, as dainty as a sparrow despite its comparatively larger size. “Trust me. Not this one.”

Her mother makes further doubtful mutterings, but these subside as the magpie shows no signs of mischief. Her father, meanwhile, leans carefully closer to have a better look at the bird, who now seems to be napping.

“They have such tame magpies in this… wherever you were?” he asks, as softly as he can.

Thosinund shakes her head. “Maybe they did, once. The only birds left there now are big and mean- fight you soon as look at you. But this one here followed my messenger back from delivering one of my reports, and just wouldn’t leave. Affectionate little bastard, too, showing up on my nameday and all…”

“Well, I’ll be.” Pa glances from her to the magpie and back. “A volunteer nameday bird. Hasn’t got a name himself, has he?”

“A name? …No,” Thosi realizes. “I was so busy with everything else, I didn’t think about it. I should…” She strokes the black-feathered head with one fingertip. “Hmm. Any ideas?”

“Call it Loetmynd,” Ma says almost instantly.

“Swaroeya,” from Pa.  

“Rhylstymm.”

“Lyngzagyl.”

At which point Tataru gives a discreet cough, breaking the rhythm. “Tea’s up,” she says. “Can I get you any? -Oh!” she exclaims, spying the dozing magpie. “Now what’s a little lovebird like that doing here?”

_Lovebird_.

Thosinund’s heart stops for one long, painful second.

Ma’s voice sharpens. “Thosi, what’s wrong?”

_Can’t leave now. Can’t just rush off. I have to wait…_  “Nothing,” she manages, making an effort to smile. “Tataru, that tea sounds wonderful. I’ll just go find… a nest, or something. For my friend here.”

She rises from the table as smoothly as she can, trying not to disturb her charge, but the magpie decides that now is the time to awaken. Its claws scrape her skin as it takes to the air—and flaps almost right into her face, forcing her to step backward. It circles her head, her shoulders, her whole torso, talking a malm a minute.

Thosi attempts in vain to evade the onslaught, but the magpie is relentless. It positively herds her out of the Rising Stones, through the Seventh Heaven, into Mor Dhona proper and straight to the base of the aetheryte, making several exaggerated swoops between her and the great crystal spike.

“You want me to go somewhere, do you?” she asks it, starting to be amused despite herself. “Is that what you’re after, you chatterbox?”

“I knew that bird was going to be trouble,” her mother calls, emerging from the Seventh Heaven. “Haldkhan, stop laughing.”

“Mhaslona Aermagynnwyn, if a man can’t laugh at the sight of a bird driving his grown girl along like a dog with one sheep, he can’t laugh at anything.”

The magpie flaps down to Thosi’s shoulder and nips at her ear. “Hey! Stop that,” she objects. “Look, I’m going, all right? I’m going… I don’t know where I’m going.” She pulls out her linkpearl, since the bird seems unwilling to let her retrace her steps, and rings Tataru. “You wouldn’t happen to have spoken to Lyse lately, would-  _ow!_ \- would you?”

* * *

Thosinund arrives in Ala Mhigo and makes straight for the palace, the magpie perched expectantly on her shoulder. “He’s quite tame,” she tells the guard, who looks skeptical of allowing any bird to enter the building. “And if he misbehaves, I’ll take him out at once.”

“Well… seeing as it’s you,” the fellow decides. “Go on in, miss- there’s someone waiting to show you where to go.”

“Someone” turns out to be another guard, who leads her on a few minutes’ walk through various corridors, some indoors, others open to the air. The courtyard in which they ultimately arrive is, at first glance, almost more garden than pavement. Tall grasses and long stalks heavy with clustered white flowers sway in the faintly salty breeze. Bright sunshine pours in on the far side, leaving the nearer half in shadow, and not a single cloud mars what can be seen of the sky.

“Here we are, miss,” her guide says. “Commander Hext will be arriving shortly. Is there anything you’d like in the meantime? Tea, perhaps…?” He glances uncertainly at the still-circling magpie.

There is a short sound like a stifled laugh at Thosi’s ear; she ignores it. “Yes, thank you. Tea’s great.”

Left to wait, Thosinund explores the space. Aside from a plain wooden table and chairs tucked away in one shaded corner, there isn’t much else to see. She ends up sitting in the sunlit grass- it reminds her of her favorite spot out among her father’s fields, right down to the coolness of the earth. The magpie flies here and there, chattering contentedly to itself.

She really should name it, she decides. That’s a better circle of thought than some others she might fall into. Of course its feathers are black and white, but ‘Swarwyzn’ doesn’t seem quite right. And jabber though it- he- may, he isn’t all  _that_  loud.

What had Pa said? “Like a dog with one sheep.” Hm. That would be…

“Eynskapf,” she tries out loud- it sounds good. She tries it again: “This is my magpie, Eynskapf. What do you think of that, hm?” she asks the bird in question as he comes fluttering down onto her shoulder. “Are you a one-sheep herder? Is that what you are, a pushy little Eynskapf?”

He glides from her shoulder to her knee and cocks his head at her. “ _Chaac._ ”

“You are, aren’t you,” she tells him. “Or perhaps you’re a Klynsweiga. A small herder. What about that then?” But he shakes himself as if there were water on his feathers, giving her an unimpressed look. “Maybe not,” she agrees. “The other one was better. Eynskapf it is.”

The newly named Eynskapf makes a decisive  _chac-chac-chac!—_ then, looking suddenly to her right, takes off like an arrow. Thosi tracks his flight… and promptly loses her breath.

Because Hien is there.

At least, someone is there. Someone with his tall, thick ponytail, with his x-shaped scar on one bare shoulder. Someone whose stride is confident, if perhaps a touch slower than it used to be. Someone whose unmistakable green-gold eyes catch the light as he watches her magpie wheeling madly around his head.

“So Menphina’s messenger returns,” he says, smiling, and Keeper be praised  _it is_   _his voice_ \- the voice Thosinund has been missing all this time. “Well, well, little fellow, have you seen my love? How does she fare?”

_You’ll have to ask her yourself_  is on the tip of Thosi’s tongue, but she is quite unable to speak around the frantically thudding lump of heart that’s climbed into her throat. 

Luckily, Eynskapf suffers no such affliction. With a shrill cry he bursts into action, buffeting the back of Hien’s head again and again.

“Ho now, what’s this? My hair isn’t for nesting, you know,” Hien protests with a laugh, putting his hands up to ward off further blows. “You’ll have to find your twigs and mud like any other- stop that!- like any other man. Though it’s a bit late in the year for that- oi!” he exclaims when his assailant darts around to pull at the front of his robe. “You can’t have that either. Look here, little fellow, be reasonable.”

But the bird is on a mission and will not be stopped. He bullies Hien right across the courtyard, jabbering all the way, until his charge has come within a fulm or two of Thosi’s hip. 

“Kami take me, you are determined,” Hien says, bemusedly shaking his head. “The goddess evidently chooses no meek beast for her mouthpiece. Very well, I am here, now what is so…” and his voice dies away when he sees Thosinund in the grass at his feet. His mouth forms a small, silent  _oh_  of surprise. 

All she can do is look and look and  _look_  at him, filling her eyes with the sight: he is here, truly, wonderfully here, and she aches with the joy of it. Aches, too, with a sudden fear- that if she moves too fast, if she so much as blinks, she’ll wake up. That none of this will be real. Perhaps the mood is catching, for Hien makes several false starts before he finds his voice once more.

“As often as I imagined this moment,” he begins, “I was not expecting to be cattle-driven into it. Much less by your… friend?”

Her laugh is a single high, breathless  _ha_. “You could call him that.”

“I could, if he had but an onze of good manners.”

“It’s true.”

He sinks to his knees then, into her embrace, and Thosi’s world shrinks to nothing but him—to the touch of his arms, the sound of his breath, the sweet, sweet taste of his lips when they descend upon hers. It is a long, speaking kiss, saying everything:  _it’s you, it’s you, praise gods and kami all, I missed you so._  A kiss that lingers, that bathes and balms the wound that absence made on both their hearts. A kiss that promises more to come, and more, til all is healed and flourishing besides. She could live inside a kiss like this.

When it ends, Thosi opens her eyes slowly, just in case she’s dreaming after all. But Hien has not disappeared. Here he stays, nearly nose to nose with her, his gaze so tender that she finds herself blinking back tears.

Hien reaches up, his thumb gently brushing the drops from her lower lashes. “Why, it’s raining,” he observes. “In full daylight. We’d better hide, I think, before the foxes’ wedding passes through.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Thosi tells him. “You’re invited.”

She thinks she hears his breath catch, and then they’re kissing again—harder this time, Hien’s nails scraping deliciously as his fingers thrust into her hair. She pulls him closer, bending her knees up behind his back, wanting to fold so tightly around him that none might pry them apart. Someone could catch them like this but she cannot care, not now, not with her pulse thundering in her skull and his chest near flush against hers and his tongue, his  _tongue_  sliding so wickedly into her mouth—

—which is the exact instant that Eynskapf kicks up his most unholy racket yet, completely and utterly shattering the mood. Thosinund unfolds herself from Hien, ready to give the little featherbrain a piece of her mind, until the sound of approaching footsteps reaches her ears. “ _Shite._ ”

“Not at all,” Hien murmurs, as they both hurry to stand up and brush themselves off. “You taste far better than that.”

“You-!” Thosinund starts, neck tingling in her fluster. But that is as far as she gets, because Lyse comes damn near bounding into the courtyard with happy cries of greeting, a tea service rattling in behind her. Eynskapf raises a merry counterpoint over it all, quite pleased with himself.

It is real. She is home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all don't want to know how long I spent with that Roegadyn dictionary. ye really don't. Suffice it to say that the names not translated within the text are, in order, Loudmouth, Blackeye, Plentiful Voice and Longtail. 
> 
> 'But Cascaper,' you may ask, 'where are the makeouts for which we hoped?' And that is why I fully plan to write a part 2 of this bit just for said makeouts. 
> 
> Also a warm shoutout to eremiss on tumblr, who helped me take about thirty-odd words off of this and strengthened my grammar choices!


	12. O My Heart, pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I follow tumblr user aethernoise's excellent advice and skip straight to what I want to write- which is, of course, the 'thank-gods-we're-together-again' sex scene. Beta read by my good friend Eremiss, bless her. 
> 
> POV: Thosinund, still.

Over the weeks of her absence, Thosinund has had some ideas about _seeing Hien again-_ to put it indirectly.  

She had thought to say “Come here,” or perhaps simply say his name. She had thought she might sweep him up into a joyous spin, or else pin him playfully yet passionately to the wall. She had thought… oh, a million things.

What actually happens is this:

Thosi shuts the spare-room door.

Turns around.

And finds herself with a sudden armful of gravity-defying Doman prince, who’s kissing her like his life depends on it.

She is at once delighted and quickly, dizzyingly aroused. Hien’s teeth tease at her lower lip, his fingers knotting in her hair; she staggers a little as his legs wrap firmly round her waist. Of course this means that she gets to catch him under the thighs for support, gets to cup both her hands around his ass, and she can’t resist—she has to take that double handful and squeeze just a bit. He moans into her mouth, a desperate sound that shoots straight to the top of her skull and ricochets right down her spine, leaving a trail of heron-bumps in its wake.

_Bed_ , she thinks hazily. _We need the bed._

But she doesn’t want to stop kissing him, so she doesn’t. She moves blindly through the room, scattering minor bits of furniture before her, as he tugs at her hair and ruts himself against her ribs. She doesn’t stop til she’s rounded the screen and her knees find the side of the bed.

“Thosinund,” Hien gasps when she breaks the kiss to lower him to the mattress and half-falls, half-climbs on after him. “Thosinund, oh gods-”

" _Hien_ ,” she responds in a fierce whisper, and reclaims his lips. She has been parched without his kisses and she drinks this one down, relishing the rhythm of his mouth moving with hers, the way he tastes somehow warm and cool at the same time. Sunshine and spring air. Plum blossoms over shaded water.

They fumble at each other’s clothes, their fingers made clumsy with urgency- but knots come undone and sleeves are escaped, and somewhere in the middle of it all their positions are reversed. The bedclothes wrinkle under Thosi’s newly bare back as Hien flings aside the last of his garments with a triumphant grin. She has a brief impression of brown shadows where his bruises used to be—then he is back in her arms, all warm skin and eager mouth. 

He kisses not just down her body, but up and around and all over, like he’s trying to be everywhere at once. One hand finds her breast while the other pins her wrist to the mattress. He laughs when her thighs spring apart at the merest touch of his knee–then hums low in surprise as said knee meets the damp patch between her legs. 

“ _Oh,_ ” he whispers, appreciative. “Oh my.”

Her arousal is almost painful; she can practically feel herself dripping, feel her pulse throbbing through her core. Even the littlest forward shift of his thigh forces her to bite back a whine. 

“So _wet_ ,” he breathes, and she whimpers when he nudges into her again. 

“Please,” is all she can think, all she can say. _Please, please don’t make me wait—_ but his knee is firm against her now and she is helplessly rocking into him, her other hand now pinned like the first, dizzy with lust—

—until her desperation takes over and she writhes free of his hold, seizing his waist to make him stop. She did not cross time and space twice over for this- this _bullshite_.

“Something wrong?” he asks, his voice light even as his widened pupils make his gaze dark and promising.

“Hien,” she grates out, “if you d- _ohhh…”_ and the word dissolves into a moan because he’s already slipped a clever hand down to trace the seam of her lower lips. His fingertips trail through the well of her slick, over and over, making shivers chase each other through her veins.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, and she pants her agreement, canting her hips upward to urge him on. He will not be hurried but he does not slow down, and she throws back her head when he sinks his first two fingers deep inside her.

He’s trembling too, she notices faintly, but why? Perhaps because it’s been so long. He’s kissing down the length of her now, caressing with his other hand as he goes—then his head is down at the level of her thighs, his breath warm on her skin; his _tongue_ begins to move on her clit as he pumps his fingers steadily in and out of her.  

It is at once almost too much and far, far from enough. Thosi clutches the sheets in a pale-knuckled grip to stop herself from simply seizing Hien’s hair and having her way with his face. He’s got four fingers moving in her now, twisting and thrusting, thick knuckles making divine friction while his tongue laps her up. She’s soaking wet inside and out, pleasure mounting through her every limb; his fingers are the flint striking true at her steel—

—and just like that she’s coming, back arching, with a strangled cry that’s half his name and half a wordless, keening wail.

Hien’s rhythm falters at her cry; when it ends, when she is left dazed and dreamy on the bed, she looks down to find delight spreading over his face. He sits up, gently withdrawing his fingers, raising his other hand to his chin and finding something there that brings out the most devilish of grins. His eyes snap to meet and hold her own as he makes a great show of wiping his jaw clean.

Thosi draws a stuttering breath, her ears aflame. “I,” she begins. “Er.”

“Oh no,” Hien interrupts, grinning like a cat. “My lady fox is surely not sorry for the great favor she has just granted me. She may say so, but I won’t believe it.”

“But I didn’t mean to—so soon—I…” Words scatter like so many fish as she tries and fails to complete the sentence. “I wanted it to be—together. With you.”

He softens at that, taking her hand, and presses a kiss to her palm. “I think that can be arranged. When you are ready, of course.”

She pulls herself together just enough to maneuver into a sitting position with the pillow at her back. Hien is at her side in the blink of an eye, his kisses and caresses smoothing her into one piece again. When she has regained the energy to fold him properly into her arms, he lays his head on her chest with a long, almost silent sigh. For one moment they are utterly still, perfectly content.

But not finished yet, by any means. Thosinund soon finds her blood stirring again; her pulse rises as her head clears. “Hien…”

“Yes?”

“Come here,” and when he lifts his head she pulls him into a firm, decisive kiss.

His hair is somehow still tied in its usual place at the top of his head. _Time to change that_ , Thosi thinks, and with a neat tug she sends the sleek black flood spilling down his back. She fills one hand with it, weaving up and through to the roots, alternating sharp pulls with soothing massage. All the while she keeps kissing him, holding him, letting her other hand play over his spine and his shoulders until he is fair shuddering in her embrace.

“I take it,” he says unsteadily when she releases his lips, “I take it you are quite recovered, then?”

“Entirely,” she purrs, raking her nails ever so lightly over the back of his neck. “Turn around, my lord hare. If you would.”

He obeys, with only a little difficulty, and settles himself on her lap; it is her turn to be delighted when she sees how he is standing to attention. She reaches around and down to take firm hold of his cock- her hand is big enough to engulf it almost completely. _“Aaah_ , fuck,” he hisses, the shiver that passes through him neatly trapped between their bodies.

“Really,” she smirks, gripping him a little tighter before she starts to move in earnest. “Have you been saving yourself for me, my lord?”

“I could ask you the- _haah-_ same thing,” he shoots back. “You- _nnng_ \- certainly seemed ready enough- _ah!_ \- for me.”

“Funny thing about saving the world,” she breathes into his ear. “It doesn’t leave much time for aught else. But you knew that.”

“Ff _ffuck_ the world…”

“Not the world. Just you.”

She loves the way he strains under her strokes, the way his heartbeat thunders against her ribs as he tries to steady himself by grasping her knees. She could swear he’s growing yet stiffer in her fingers with every pass of her palm, every twist of her wrist. She swipes her thumb over the head of him and he nearly shouts, except that she catches the sound under her other hand just in time. She does it again, the silky pool of pre smoothing her way, and his muffled yell is the sweetest thing she’s ever heard.

Really, she shouldn’t tease him. She resumes her stroking, albeit faster now, and his hot breath matches her pace. Then he gives two quick squeezes on her knee- their signal that he wants to speak.

“Thosinund,” he gasps the instant she removes her hand. “If you don’t stop now I won’t be- I can’t-”

“Of course.” She cinches the base of him tightly with her thumb and forefinger, just to be safe, and presses a kiss to his hair as he backs down from the edge.

“Right,” he finally says, sounding more like himself. “All clear. You can let go now.”

When she does he turns to face her in a flash, crushing his lips to hers in a bruising kiss that brings the ache between her legs rushing back. In seconds she’s slid down, he’s lined up, and he’s inside her with one glorious thrust. 

“Oh _hhhh_ ,” emerges quite unbidden from Thosi’s throat, a low and longing sound. Hien’s cock stretches her beautifully, fills her in a way at which his fingers only hinted, and her eyes flutter shut as she savors the feeling. He pauses to let her adjust, so long that she begins to wonder.

“Something wrong?”

“Just… need a moment…” His voice has gone husky, even ragged. When she looks, she finds his eyes have shut as well, his hair falling over his scarred shoulder, his lips slightly parted in an expression of something like bliss. “One moment,” he repeats.

She lets him have it. And another, and another, so that impatience soon replaces her wonder. She pulls at his waist, clamps herself down around him, and still he does not move.

Just as she’s on the brink of madness, his eyes meet hers with a mischievous glint- and all at once he’s fucking her hard and fast, seizing her hips to drive that gorgeous cock into her core. She leans up to catch his lips with her teeth, to knot her hand in the curtain of his hair, to claw at his back and his neck and his ass and leave marks everywhere she can reach. Every move she makes- every bite, every scratch- spurs him to fuck her deeper, filling the room with the sound of skin and slick, bringing her higher and higher.

It is no longer a question of where she wants him. It is only a question of when they arrive.

“Hien—Hi _en_ , I’m close—”

“Yes,” and his grin is feral, his pace somehow even faster. “So am I— _kami,_ Thosinund—so close—”

He slips a hand between them to find her clit again, letting the rhythm of his thrusts move his thumb over her swollen bud; she howls high and thin at the added sensation.

“So warm,” he pants, “so _tight_ —oh gods—”

And that’s it, that’s _it_ , she’s crashing over her peak, his name spilling from her lips over and over, half chanted, half sobbed. Her love soon follows, his hips bucking and stuttering to a final halt. Spent, exhausted, limbs gone slack, they lie unable to do aught but cling to each other and wait for their breath to return.

When at last they can move, Thosi is eternally grateful to find bathing materials well within arm’s reach. A small table near her side of the bed holds a basin, a few small towels, and a full water jug. She pushes upright and busies herself with them all, dampening cloths, wiping and refreshing, til she feels clean once more. Somewhere in the midst of this Hien bestirs himself to do the same.

“I wasn’t quite honest, before,” she tells him, once they have finished with the washing and found a dry spot on the bed.

“Not honest about what?”

“I did _try_ to… take care of myself, while I was gone. But, well…” She gives a rueful laugh. “It only made me miss you more.” _Also_ , she does not add, _having a ghostly voyeur is distinctly unhelpful._

Hien does not chuckle, as she thought he might; instead he laces his fingers through hers and nods. “It was the same for me—I would start with the warmest thoughts of you and end by simply praying you were safe.”  

Tears prick at Thosi’s eyes, but she does not let them fall. “Oh, Hien…”

He moves up to kiss her then, a kiss so tender it might break her heart. His lips are still close enough to brush her own when he draws back to speak: “I am… unspeakably happy that you’re home.”

“Well,” she whispers, smiling. “I’m happy to be home.”

She gathers him in to her and pulls the nearest blanket up over them both, feeling fragile and warm and loved.


End file.
